


Goddess Worship

by Missy



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Encouragement, F/F, First Kiss, Just Post-Canon, Romance, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Conversations, canoodling and awkward first steps.





	Goddess Worship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/gifts).



“I still don’t know how you stopped the apocalypse.” 

Misty twisted towards Cordelia and listened with her chin propped up in the palm of her hand. 

“I wish you’d been there,” Cordelia said. “I know it was much safer for you to stay in the afterlife, to wait for us.” 

“It wasn’t ‘cause I wasn’t powerful enough?” It wasn’t that Misty craved power – it was that she hated not being useful. Well, Cordelia could relate to that feeling.

“You’ve been the best assistant tutor I’ve ever met,” said Cordelia. The fire crackled. Misty spun her Galaxy Vodka until it made grey-blue swirls in her oversized glass. It matched the hope lighting up her eyes – the beauty there that was flawless and gorgeous. It was pure Misty – not innocent but not backwards. Simply all-loving and giving. 

She was a sweetheart but there was much more to her. 

“All I wanna do is keep the girls safe,” she said. “Everything else can go to hell.”

“Even Stevie?”

Cordelia sipped away her grin as Misty gasped. “Cordelia Goode, I would never in my life ever besmirch my goddess. You know what happens to people who turn their back on her!”

They both had an inkling. There was a reason why they’d left Fiona to suffer in hell with knotty pine and cool lakeside breezes. There were certain witches you absolutely couldn’t trust under any circumstances, and Fiona was the queen of them. Someone who had turned her back on their goddess – though not precisely Stevie. 

Now was not the time to think of her mother.

“You’re gonna have the chance to grow,” Cordelia said. “And you’re going to do a lot of improvement as you get older.”

Misty smiled. “If I live up to Stevie’s expectations and yours, then I know I’ve lived a successful life.”

Cordelia rested her hand against Misty’s palm – the one that lay open on her own knee, the one that wasn’t wet and cold from the wine glass. Her hands were working women’s hands – scuffed, slightly reddened. What often were cruelly called ‘dishpan hands’. But Misty’s hands contained so much of the softness and warmth that she had as a person that they were far and away the most beautiful part of her body. Cordelia’s own hand slid up her long, soft arm – ivory, smelling like jasmine – and into her hair. 

There was a moment, just a moment of recognition of the moment – of the glory of what they were feeling – before they drew close together and pressed their mouths together. A tiny gasp came from Misty’s throat before they fell into it, spilling the wine in a puddle upon the rug. 

Their lips touched, and Cordelia sank into the fairytale they were making, the one where tomorrow didn’t matter and there’d never be apart again. Where death stayed defeated, and nothing mattered more than the second between heartbeats.

In the distance dark clouds rolled over the Academy but for the moment – in the moment – they noticed nothing but one another.


End file.
